The Liveship Traders Series

by Robin Hobb

  ‘Does it look as if we can go soon?’ her mother demanded. ‘Malta, please try to be useful instead of driving me mad. Go and see if Trader Restart’s carriage has arrived.’

  ‘Oh, not him!’ Malta protested. ‘Please, please tell me we are not riding with him in that smelly old carriage of his. Mother, the doors don’t even stay shut or open properly. I am going to be so humiliated if we have to go with—’

  ‘Malta, go and see if the carriage is here,’ her grandmother tersely commanded her. As if her mother had not already said it.

  Malta sighed and stalked off. By the time they got there, the food and drink would be gone and everyone would be seated on the council benches. If she had to go and sit through a whole council meeting, she at least wanted to be there for the fun part. As she walked down the hall, she wondered if Delo would even be there. Cerwin would. His family had been treating him like an adult for years. Maybe Delo would be there, and if she was, Malta could find a way to get permission to sit with her. It would be easy to get Delo to sit next to her brother. She hadn’t seen Cerwin since the day Mother had insisted on showing him around the garden room. But that didn’t mean that Cerwin was no longer interested.

  At that thought, she made a quick side trip to the water closet. There was a small looking-glass there. The light was not good, but Malta still smiled at what she saw. She had swept her dark hair up from her face, braiding it and then securing it to the crown of her head. Artless tendrils danced on her forehead and brushed the tops of her cheeks. They still would allow her only flowers as adornments, but she had chosen the last tiny roses that still bloomed in the garden room. They were a deep red, with a heady sweet fragrance. Her robe for this evening was very simple, but at least it was not a little girl’s frock. It was a Trader’s robe, such as all the Traders wore to such meetings. Hers was a deep magenta, almost the same shade as the roses in her hair. It was traditionally the Vestrit colour. Malta would have preferred a blue, but the magenta did look good on her. And at least it was new. She’d never had a Trader’s robe before. In a way, they were stuffy garments, round necklines, ankle-length, belted at the waist like a monk’s robe. She admired the shining black leather of her wide belt, the stylized initial that formed the buckle. She had cinched it tight, to better emphasize the swell of her hips and to pull the fabric taut over her breasts. Papa was right. She did have a woman’s shape already; why should she not have a woman’s clothes and privileges? Well, it was only a matter of time before he was back, and then things would change around here. His trading would go well, he’d come home with pockets full of money, and then he would hear of how she had been mistreated and cheated of her promised gown and…

  ‘Malta!’ Her mother jerked the door open. ‘What are you doing in here? Everyone is waiting for you. Get your cloak and hurry up!’

  ‘Is the carriage here?’ she asked her mother’s back as she hurried after her.

  ‘Yes,’ Mama replied with asperity. ‘And Trader Restart has been standing beside it waiting for us.’

  ‘Well, why didn’t he knock or ring the bell or…’

  ‘He did,’ her mother snapped. ‘But as usual, you were off in some daydream of your own.’

  ‘Do I have to wear my cloak? We’ll be in the carriage and then the hall, and my old cloak looks stupid with my new robe.’

  ‘It’s cold out. Wear your cloak. And, please, try to remember your manners tonight. Pay attention to what is said. The Rain Wild families don’t ask for an audience of all the Old Traders without good cause. I have no doubt that whatever is said tonight will affect the fates of us all. And remember that the Rain Wild folk are kin to us. Don’t stare, have your best manners and…’

  ‘Yes, Mother.’ The same lecture she had already delivered six times at least today. Did she think Malta was deaf, or stupid? Hadn’t she been told ever since she was born that they were kin to the Rain Wild families? That reminded her. As they went out the door past a stern-faced Nana, Malta began, ‘I’ve heard that the Rain Wild folk have a new ware. Flame-jewels. I heard that the beads are clear as raindrops, but there are small tongues of flames that dance in each one.’

  Her mother did not even answer. ‘Thank you so much for waiting, Davad. And this is so far out of your way as well,’ she was saying to the dumpy little man.

  He beamed at her mother, his face shining with pleasure and grease as he helped her up into the carriage. Malta didn’t say a word to him and managed to hop in before he could touch her arm. She hadn’t forgotten nor forgiven him for her last carriage ride. Her mother had settled in next to her grandmother. Oh, they couldn’t expect her to sit next to Trader Restart. It was just too disgusting. ‘May I sit in the middle?’ She managed to squeeze herself in between them. ‘Mother, about the flame-jewels…’ She began hopefully, but Trader Restart started speaking as if she weren’t even there.

  ‘All settled? Well, here we go then. Now, I shall have to sit by the door here to hold it shut, I’m afraid. I told my man to see to having the catch repaired, but when I ordered the carriage out tonight, I found it had not been done yet. It’s enough to drive one mad. What is the good of having servants if they pay no attention when you tell them to do something? It’s almost enough to make a man wish for slavery here in Bingtown. A slave knows that his master’s goodwill is his only hope of comfort and wellbeing, and it makes him pay attention to his orders.’

  And on and on and on, all the way to Trader Concourse. Trader Restart talked and her mother and grandmother listened. At most they only politely differed with him even though she had heard her grandmother say a hundred times that she thought slavery would ruin Bingtown. Not that Malta agreed with her. She was sure Papa would not have become involved with it if it were not profitable. Still, she thought it was rather spineless, the way her grandmother said one thing at home, and then didn’t stand up for her views with Restart. The strongest thing she said was, ‘Davad, I have only to imagine myself a slave to know that it is wrong.’ As if that were some final argument. Malta was thoroughly bored with the whole discussion long before the carriage stopped. And she still hadn’t managed to tell her mother about the flame-jewels.

  But at least they weren’t the last ones to arrive. Not quite. It took every bit of self-control Malta could muster to sit still while Restart fumbled with the faulty door-catch, and then manoeuvred himself out the opening. She followed right away, stepping nimbly down before he could take her hand in his moist, meaty palm. The man made her want to go and wash.

  ‘Malta!’ her mother called to her sharply as she started up the walk. She didn’t even lower her voice as she said, ‘Wait there. We shall all go in together.’

  Malta folded her lips and breathed out once through her nose. She did it on purpose, her mother enjoyed publicly speaking to her as if she were still a child. She waited for them, but when they caught up with her, she purposely lagged behind, not so far that her mother would call her, but far enough that she wasn’t quite with them and Trader Restart.

  The Traders’ Concourse was dark. Well, not entirely, but certainly not lit as it had been for the Harvest Ball. A mere two torches burned to illuminate the pathway, and the windows of the hall showed dimly through shutter cracks. That was probably because this meeting had been called by the Rain Wild families. They did not enjoy light, or so it was said. Delo said it was something about their eyes, but Malta suspected that if they all were as ugly as the one she had seen, they just didn’t want everyone looking at them. Warty. That was how she had heard them described. Warty and deformed. A little shiver ran up her spine. She wondered how many of them would be here tonight.

  Another carriage rattled up behind Davad’s just as his coachman clucked to his horses. It was an old style of carriage, with heavy lace panels obscuring the windows. Malta dawdled to see who would get out of it. In the dim light, she had to peer to see the crest on the door. It was unfamiliar, not an Old Trader crest. That meant they had to be Rain Wild. No one else would dare to be here tonight.
She walked on, but could not resist glancing over her shoulder to see who would get out. A family disembarked, six figures, all cloaked and hooded in dark colours. But as each stepped out, the touch of gloved hand to collar or cuff set tiny amber, red and orange lights to flickering at each location. The hair stood up on the back of her neck and then she realized what they were. Flame-jewels. Malta halted where she stood. Oh, the rumours of them could not do them justice. She caught her breath and stared. The closer they came, the more magnificent they were.

  ‘Malta?’ She heard the warning in her mother’s voice.

  ‘Good evening.’ It was a husky woman’s voice that came from within the shadowed depths of the hood. And now Malta could see that the hood was veiled with a curtain of lace as well. What could be so hideous, as to need hiding even in darkness? The flame-jewels she wore were scarlet, weighing down the edges of her veil. She was dimly aware of hurried footsteps behind her, the soft sussurrus of fabric. She startled when her mother spoke right at her elbow. ‘Good evening. I am Keffria, of the Vestrit Trader family.’

  ‘Jani of the Rain Wild’s Khuprus gives you greeting,’ the hooded woman replied.

  ‘May I present my daughter, Malta Haven of the Vestrit family.’

  ‘You may indeed.’ The woman’s voice was a cultured purr. Malta belatedly remembered to bow. The woman chuckled approvingly. When she spoke, it was to her mother. ‘I do not believe I have seen her at a Gathering before. Has she just entered society?’

  ‘In truth, this is her first Gathering. She has not been presented yet. Her grandmother and I believe she must learn the duties and responsibilities of a Trader woman before she is presented as one.’ In contrast to Jani, her mother’s voice was courteous and hasty, as if correcting a wrong impression.

  ‘Ah. That does sound like Ronica Vestrit. And I do approve of such philosophy. I fear it is becoming rarer in Bingtown these days.’ Her tone smooth and rich as cream now.

  ‘Your flame-jewels are beautiful,’ Malta blurted out. ‘Are they very expensive?’ Even as she said it, she heard how childish she sounded.

  ‘Malta!’ her mother rebuked her.

  But the Rain Wild woman chuckled throatily. ‘Actually, the scarlets are the most common and the easiest to awaken. But I still love them best. Red is such a rich colour. The greens and blues are rarer far, and much harder to stir. And so, of course, they are the ones we charge most dearly for. The flame-jewels are the exclusive province of the Khuprus, of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ her mother replied. ‘It is quite thrilling to see this new addition to the Khuprus merchandise. The rumours of them have not done them justice.’ Her mother glanced over her shoulder. ‘Oh, dear! We have delayed you, I fear. We should probably all go in lest they begin without us.’

  ‘Oh, they will wait for me, I am certain,’ Jani Khuprus observed heavily. ‘It is at my behest we are all gathered here. But you are right, there is no courtesy in keeping others waiting. Keffria, young Malta. A pleasure to speak with you both.’

  ‘Our pleasure,’ her mother demurred, and stepped aside deferentially to allow the hooded woman to precede her. As her mother took her arm, she gripped it just a fraction tighter than was comfortable. ‘Oh, Malta,’ she sighed in rebuke, and then firmly escorted her in. Just within the doors of the Traders’ Concourse, Grandmother awaited them. Her lips were folded tightly. She curtseyed deeply to Jani Khuprus as she passed, then turned wide eyes on Malta and her mother.

  Her mother waited a few moments to be sure Jani Khuprus was out of earshot, then hissed, ‘She presented herself to her!’

  ‘Oh, Malta,’ her grandmother groaned. Sometimes Malta felt her name was a sort of club. Almost any time either of them said it, they expressed anger or disgust or impatience with the word. She hung her cloak on a peg, then turned with a shrug.

  ‘I just wanted to see her flame-jewels,’ she tried to explain, but as usual, neither of them was listening to her. Instead they hurried her inside the hall. It was dimly lit with tall standing branches of tapers. A third of the space had been given over to an elevated stage. The floor that she had always seen cleared for dancing was now lined with rows of chairs. And it was as she had feared. They were late. The tables of food were picked over and folk were either seated already or seeking their seats. ‘Can I go and sit with Delo?’ she asked hastily.

  ‘Delo Trell is not here,’ Grandmother pointed out acidly. ‘Her parents had the good sense to leave her at home. Which is where I wish you were, also.’

  ‘I didn’t ask to come,’ Malta replied, even as her mother said, ‘Mother!’ in rebuke. A few moments later, Malta found herself seated between them at the end of a long row of cushioned chairs. Davad Restart sat at the very end. There was an elderly couple in front of them, a pox-scarred man and his pregnant wife behind them, and on the other side of Mama were two heavy-jowled brothers. They weren’t even interesting to look at. By sitting up tall and craning her head, she finally found Cerwin Trell. He was six rows in front of them, and almost at the opposite end of the row. There were empty seats behind the Trells. She was sure her mother had deliberately chosen to seat her so far away.

  ‘Sit still and pay attention,’ her grandmother hissed.

  Malta sighed and slumped back in her seat. Up front, Trader Trentor was midway through a long invocation to Sa. It seemed to be a long list of everything that had ever gone wrong for any of the Trader families. Instead of being angry that Sa had let such things befall them, he grovelled along about how Sa always came to their aid. If it had been Krion instead of his uncle, perhaps it would have been interesting. In the seats reserved for the Rain Wild Traders, several cowled heads were bent forwards. She wondered if they were already dozing.

  After the invocation, there was the speech of welcome by Trader Drur. It repeated the same tired litany. All were kin, all were Traders, ancient oaths and bonds, loyalty and unity, blood and kin. Malta found a flaw in the weave of her new robe. It was right at the edge of her knee. When she tried to point it out to her mother, she looked annoyed and made a shushing motion with her hand. When Drur finally resumed his seat and Jani Khuprus came forward, Malta sat up and leaned forward.

  The Rain Wild Trader had taken off her heavy outer cloak and hood but her features were still obscured. She wore a lighter mantle of ivory, also hooded, and the lace veil that covered her face was actually a part of that garment. The flame-jewels still shone as brilliantly and had lost none of their effect in the dimly-lit room. As she spoke, her veiled face often turned to different corners of the room. Whenever she turned her head, the veil moved, and the flame-gems flared up more brightly. There were fifteen of them, all as glistening red as pomegranate kernels, but about the size of shelled almonds. She couldn’t wait to tell Delo that she had seen them up close and even spoken to Jani Khuprus about them.

  The matriarch suddenly lifted both hands and voice and Malta focused on what she was saying. ‘We can no longer wait and hope. None of us can afford to do so. For if we do, our secrets shall be secrets no longer. Had not the river protected us, eating their ship to splinters as they fled, we would have been forced to kill them all ourselves. Bingtown Traders! How could this have happened to us? What has become of your vows? Tonight you listen to Jani Khuprus, but be assured I speak for all the Rain Wild Traders. This is more than a threat we face.’

  She paused. A long silence filled the Concourse. Then a mutter of voices rose. Malta assumed she was finished. She leaned over to her mother, and whispered, ‘I’m going to go get something to drink.’

  ‘Sit still and be silent!’ her grandmother hissed at both of them. There were deep lines of tension in her brow and around her mouth. Her mother didn’t say a word. Malta sat back with a sigh.

  One of the jowly brothers to their left rose abruptly. ‘Trader Khuprus!’ he called out. When all heads turned to him, he asked simply, ‘What do you expect us to do?’

  ‘Keep your promises!’ Jani Khuprus snapped. Then, in a slightly milder tone, as if
her own reply had surprised her, she added, ‘We must remain united. We must send representatives to the Satrap. For obvious reasons, they cannot come from Rain Wild families. But we would stand united with you in the message.’

  ‘And that message would be?’ someone queried from another part of the hall.

  ‘I’m really thirsty,’ Malta whispered. Her mother frowned at her.

  ‘We must demand the Satrap honour our original covenant. We must demand he call back these so-called New Traders, and cede back to us any lands he has deeded them.’

  ‘And if he refuses?’ This from a Trader woman in the back of the hall.

  Jani Khuprus shifted uneasily. She did not want to answer the question. ‘Let us first ask him to honour the word of his forebears. We have never even asked him. We have complained and grumbled amongst ourselves, we have disputed individual claims. But not once have we stood up as a people and said, “Honour your word if you expect us to honour ours”.’

  ‘And if he refuses?’ the woman repeated steadily.

  Jani Khuprus lifted her gloved hands and then let them fall back to her sides. ‘Then he is without honour,’ she said in a quiet voice that still carried to every part of the hall. ‘What have the Traders to do with those who are without honour? If he fails in his word, then we should withdraw ours. Stop sending him tribute. Market our goods wherever we please, rather than funnelling the best of them through Jamaillia.’ In an even quieter voice, she said, ‘Drive out the New Traders. Rule ourselves.’